Ad Astra

All my young friends
All my young peers
All those young fascists say

age is just a number
because they are stupid 
in the ways of aging

God, please protect them
as I lose myself
to my snickering, flickering body
because more and more
I want to stab them a little bit
for their blithe dismissal

I don’t want them
to be this oblivious to me
wincing forward
with hands that won’t close
around what I want
and 
every sharp pain
under my left arm 
that spins me 
between exhilaration
at the thought of the Great Divide
and terror
at the approach of the Great Divide
and
the first whispers of decay
behind my forehead

but I suppose, God, that you should
bless the young
for this dumb they carry
as a birthright rocket
to infinity and beyond

(or
as people used to say
ad astra per aspera)

That ignorance was mine once too
I’d like it back
but will settle for a night or two
of uninterrupted sleep
and someone to hear me
blurt out upon waking

“I’m ok with dying right now
If this is how the rest of life begins
I have seen enough”